The Fight
by joyousnerd
Summary: Ron's day isn't turning out quite the way he planned.


The Fight

I do not own anything in the Harry Potter universe. No copyright infringement is intended.

Ron Weasley was very confused.

One minute everything was fine, he had stepped out of the floo, excited to see his wife after their day apart, and the next minute said wife was screaming at him. Screaming. This was way beyond their normal bickering -- to be honest, that was more their own unique style of foreplay than anything else. This was ugly. Hermione was so angry. And Ron had no idea why. So, he got angry right back.

"Stop screaming at me!"

"I'm not screaming!"

"Like hell you're not!"

"YOU stop screaming at ME!"

"Bloody hell! " And with that, Ron walked out of the room.

When he reached the kitchen, all the fire went out of him. He slumped against the counter and cradled his head in his hands. It was Friday, he was tired, and all he had wanted was to come home, kiss Hermione, eat dinner, and spend the evening enjoying his wife's company. Maybe have a bit of a snog on the couch. Now that plan was shot, and Ron desperately hoped that at least the fight was over.

He should have known it wouldn't be that easy.

Even though she had stopped screaming, Hermione's silence was even worse. She came into the kitchen, sniffed disdainfully at the dinner Ron had thrown together as a peace offering, poured herself a bowl of cereal, and went back into the living room. When Ron dared peek in the room a few minutes later, she was sitting curled in a knot on the couch, staring at the wall. He ventured into the room to collect her dirty bowl, and as he bent to pick it up she snatched it from him and stalked into the kitchen. He heard the crash as she slammed it into the sink, shattering it into pieces.

_Shit, this is bad._

He walked in the kitchen to find her bent over the sink, heaving breaths so violent that at first he wondered if she was vomiting. He went to her, laying a hand gently between her shoulder blades. Her body reacted like his touch had burned her, jerking away with a whimper. She ran out of the room, but not before he saw the tears streaking down her cheeks.

After that, he did not dare try to join her in the living room, but what to do? Should he call Harry or Ginny, or maybe his Mum, for help? Should he leave? Try to apologize? He racked his brain, trying desperately to remember if he had done anything to bring this on. It wasn't any major anniversary he was aware of, and Hermione had never cared about celebrating silly things like the anniversary of the first time he brought her flowers or the first time he gave her a chocolate frog. He hadn't left his dirty underwear in the floor, her birthday had been last month, and he hadn't stuck his foot in his mouth for at least a week. It wasn't that time of the month, that had been the weekend before last -- they had gone with Harry and Ginny and George and Angelina to the shore for the weekend, and she had sent him to the store for the supplies she had forgotten to pack.

He was at a loss. In the end he decided to stay where he was and hope she would calm down. He didn't want to leave her like this, and bringing another person into the mess probably wasn't a good idea. Hermione could throw a mean hex when she wanted to.

He occasionally dared a look into the other room to make sure she was ok. She sat for hours in that same little knot, and as time passed, Ron got more worried, and as he got more worried, he got more agitated.

Finally, when he could not stand the silence any more, he crossed the threshold into the living room, hand on his wand, ready to cast a shield charm if needed.

"I'm going to bed, love. Are you coming?"

She rose silently from the sofa and stalked down the hall to their bedroom. Ron relaxed a bit, maybe she could sleep it off and all would be well in the morning. As he entered the room behind her, he saw her lift her pillow and the small blanket they kept folded at the foot of the bed and then turn back towards the door.

Ron's control snapped.

"Where do you think you are going?"

The blazing fury in his voice caused Hermione's head to snap up towards him.

"I'm going to sleep on the sofa." There was no anger in her voice, just a cold deadness that made Ron's stomach turn.

"Like hell you are!" He took the pillow and blanket from her, with a little more force than necessary, and picked her up around the waist and dropped her on their big bed. "I don't care how pissed off you are, and I don't care if you never tell me why. You can scream at me all night if that's what you want to do, but you sleep here, with me, every night. No matter what."

She looked up at him, and Ron took a deep breath, bracing himself for the storm he was sure was about to erupt from his wife's tiny form. But it never came. With that same cold, dead look in her eyes, Hermione laid her head on the pillow and turned over so her back was to Ron. She didn't even take her shoes off.

Ron stepped into the bathroom and faced himself in the mirror. He was surprised to see his unlined face looking back at him -- he felt he had aged 100 years in the past 4 hours, from worry alone.

If she is not better by morning, I am taking her to St. Mungo's, even if she hexes my bits off. Something is really wrong.

He walked back into the bedroom, shedding clothes as he went. Thankfully, she was still on the bed -- Ron had not relished the thought of another struggle. Once he was down to his boxers, he started to lie down, but stopped to reach down and remove Hermione's shoes. Sleeping in one's clothes was fine, but shoes were not comfortable to sleep in.

She again recoiled from his touch, but she did not yell this time. Instead, she started to cry. It was as if something had burst within her. Ron had never seen anyone cry like this before, great heaving sobs that barely allowed her to breathe. Ron hesitated for a moment, and then lay down behind her, folding his large frame around hers, enveloping her as completely as he possibly could. She did not resist, in fact, Ron wondered if she even knew he was there.

Her sobbing lasted for only a few minutes, but they were some of the longest of Ron's life. He felt as if his heart were shattering, listening to his wife cry like that. Finally her sobs subsided to the occasional hiccup. Ron gently turned her to face him and reached down to remove the hair that was stuck to her face. Once her face was clear, he caressed her cheek and whispered into the ear he loved so much. "Will you please tell me what's wrong?"

Her reply came out in another sob, and to Ron it sounded like "uttersome".

"What love?"

She took a deep breath and spoke again, this time the words were clear, barely a whisper. "Ultrasound. Abigail."

With those two words, everything came clear.

They had been married a few months after the battle of Hogwarts, and a few months after that they had been thrilled, if a little shocked, when Hermione discovered she was pregnant. Parents at barely 20 -- it wasn't in the plan, but they were happy -- everyone was happy. Hermione's parents insisted that she get some muggle prenatal care, which was the first time Ron learned about ultrasounds. The strange machine, the cold goo on Hermione's still flat stomach, the image on the screen that to Ron looked exactly like a fuzzy Bertie Bott's every flavor bean -- they had laughed about baby-flavored beans, much to the puzzlement of the Grangers -- the whole experience had been amazing to him.

They had been so excited, until the day after they put the crib together and decorated the nursery, the day Ron came home to find Hermione curled in the bathroom floor, her skirt stained with blood, the crumpled ultrasound held tight in her palm.

She returned to work 2 days later. It had taken her 3 months to smile again. The haunted look in her eyes lasted a lot longer.

They decided to wait a while to try and get pregnant again, after all, they hadn't exactly planned the first one, so when, three months later, the test turned up negative after she was a few days late, Hermione told herself sternly that she shouldn't be so disappointed. That did not stop her from crying herself to sleep.

Ron kept track of the negative tests. Twenty-seven in all. After the 6th one, Ron had asked Hermione to stop taking them alone, he could not handle finding her in such grief and not knowing what was wrong. After the 13th, she had stopped crying when she got the result. After four years, she stopped testing altogether.

When Ginny had retired from the Harpies to start a family and fell pregnant just two months later, Ron had wondered how Hermione would react. She seemed fine, even threw a shower for Ginny and baby James. He had seen no tears, and he had watched for them, as had his mother. Hermione was coping well, and continued to do so when Ginny announced her second pregnancy.

Abigail was Hermione's less-than- discreet assistant at the ministry. She was pregnant, and had been flaunting it. Of course she had no idea how hurtful she was being, but on more than one occasion Ron had wanted to speak to her, ask her to tone it down a bit. He knew Hermione would veto the idea, so he had kept quiet and made sure to hug his wife a lot. Abigail was muggle-born, so it made sense that she would have a muggle ultrasound, and it made equal sense that she would show the pictures to anyone who was willing to look.

Apparently Hermione was not coping as well as he had believed.

"I'm broken." Her voice was flat, emotionless.

"Love, you are not broken. You are perfect."

She ignored him. "You deserve better. You deserve someone who isn't broken."

Ron pushed her shoulders so that she was lying flat on the bed, and he hovered over her. He looked straight into her eyes as he said, emphatically, "I. Want. You. I love you, You are all I want, all I have every wanted, and I would die without you. Bugger all else."

He looked down at her, at her crazy hair and swollen eyes, and saw all that mattered to him in the universe. She looked back at him, and then closed her eyes and shook her head in denial. He did the only thing he knew to do -- he lowered his lips to hers.

She didn't respond at first, but soon her mouth opened to his and her arms crept up around his neck.

"My love", he whispered into her mouth. "My precious love."

Afterwards, they both cried again as they held each other.

Hermione awoke the next morning to see her husband, showered and dressed in worn jeans and a t-shirt entering with a tray full of food. She laughed when she read the shirt -- "Harry Potter is my Homeboy".

Then she gasped as she sat up and took in the room. The late morning sunshine poured over a room full of roses. Every surface was covered in vases and bowls full of the blossoms, in every color she could imagine. She even recognized the bowl she had shattered the night before, overflowing with soft petals.

Ron settled the tray over her lap and reached down, tenderly caressing a curl that had fallen over her cheek. She lifted her face to him.

"I love you Hermione."


End file.
